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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255158">tears like diamonds on the floor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorynsays/pseuds/lorynsays'>lorynsays</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i think the universe is on my side [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Arrow (TV 2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Laurel Lance (mentioned) - Freeform, Malcolm Merlyn (mentioned) - Freeform, Protective Oliver Queen, Sara Lance (mentioned) - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:41:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,575</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorynsays/pseuds/lorynsays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity makes her first kill in the arena. Will it break her or will Oliver get there first? (Hunger Games AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i think the universe is on my side [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672060</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tears like diamonds on the floor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Do not repost or archive elsewhere without my express permission. </p><p><b>Please Note:</b> Warnings for this piece include violence, death (sorry, it’s a Hunger Games AU after all), and a character’s mental breakdown. If any of these are a trigger for you, please make note.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the light of the moon she rubs her eyes, </p><p>sits down on the bed and starts to cry—</p><p>and there’s something less about her… </p><p>And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, </p><p>so I sit down and I cry too. </p><p>And she says, “Oh, I can’t take no more.” </p><p>Her tears like diamonds on the floor, </p><p>and her diamonds bring me down.</p><p>- Rob Thomas, “Her Diamonds” - </p><hr/><p>Oliver can practically hear Tommy’s groaning comment in his ear: “Fucking Ollie, not again!”</p><p>Normally, Oliver would agree wholeheartedly. It's the Capitol’s worst kept secret that when it comes to girls, Ollie Queen is an absolute sucker for a beautiful face. One only had to look at the headlines he’d made when he cheated on Laurel Lance with her younger sister at a victory party celebrating Sara Lance winning the 73rd annual Hunger Games. </p><p>He’d been fifteen and stupid, but what had the tabloids cared? There had been more to the story (of course there was) but none of that story—<em> of the broken, scared girl who’d come out of the arena, a girl who had been crowned a champion and told to smile </em>or else—no, none of that story could ever be told. </p><p>Anyway, the point stood: Ollie Queen was a sucker for a beautiful face and sad eyes. The Gamemakers knew that, which was probably partly why the blonde girl from District 6 had lasted as long as she had in the Games so far. Who didn’t want to see the Capitol’s Champion fall to pieces over a beautiful face? He’d either have to kill her or watch her be killed. There wasn’t better entertainment than that. </p><p>Yet things were different in the arena. For one, it wasn’t Ollie Queen slipping through the trees and methodically taking out the Career Pack and any other champions he came across one by one. Ollie Queen never would have made it off the starting plinth. No, here he was Oliver Queen, son of Robert Queen. And he only had one goal: Survive.</p><p>And the girl—no, Felicity, her name was Felicity and she was meant for happier things than this—she was different here too. Face streaked with blood and mud and tangled in her hair. Wrist wrapped in a brace crafted from part of her shirt and cleverly tied around sticks for splints. Wide eyes no longer hidden behind glasses. </p><p>Oliver had heard that Felicity’s stylist Curtis had seen that particular weakness taken care of, pushing through the corrective eye surgery as “necessary for aesthetic purposes.” Those necessary aesthetic purposes had likely saved the girl’s life. A half-blind champion who relied on glasses for imperfect vision would have been easy pickings. At least the girl had someone looking out for her.</p><p>Not that it would be enough here in the arena.</p><p><em> “Come back to me, Ollie.” </em>Thea’s words come back to him and Oliver closes his eyes, the memory like a punch to his gut. </p><p>He knew better than to promise that he would. He couldn’t be that cruel. <em> “Don’t worry about me, Speedy,” </em> he’d said back, voice teasing and light, the strain underneath it barely detectable. <em> “The ones in the arena are the people who should be worried.”  </em></p><p>Thea’s eyes had narrowed in response.</p><p>As always, the memory of Thea’s goodbye brings with it the memory of Tommy’s goodbye. Tommy, with his cobalt blue hair swept back from his eyes and his mascara and eyeliner smudged. For all he looked like he’d just got in from a night of debauchery at the latest club, Oliver knew better. Tommy had given one last go at talking to his father, President Merlyn, begging him to reconsider, to save Oliver Queen.</p><p>The despondent look in Tommy’s eyes that morning told Oliver all he needed to know. His fate was sealed. </p><p><em> “It’s not your fault, Tommy,” </em> Oliver had told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and grasping it in a bracing gesture. <em> “None of this is your fault.”  </em></p><p><em> “He’s supposed to be my father,” </em> Tommy had snapped back, wrenching away from Oliver’s grasp. <em> “What kind of fucking maniac—how could he think—he watched us grow up—” </em> </p><p>Too angry to finish his sentence, Tommy clenched his jaw and looked at the ground. The shame and disgust that rolled off him was almost tangible. </p><p><em> “It’s all right,” </em> Oliver said, grabbing his best friend by the shoulders and giving him a shake to illustrate his words, to bring his friend back to him. <em> “Tommy, I promise you it’s going to be all right.”  </em></p><p>When he looked up, Tommy’s eyes were hard, no longer the devil-may-care playboy that graced the front of all the tabloids. <em> “Don’t go in there and play the hero, Ollie. Those people—those other champions—they’re not your friends. You can’t save them.” </em></p><p>Oliver nodded, his gaze serious. <em> “I know.”  </em></p><p>A twig cracks, wrenching Oliver back to the present. The sound came from some distance off to his left, but too close for comfort. A wave of frustration and guilt washes over the green-clad archer. He knows better than to let his brooding take hold when he’s so exposed and vulnerable. </p><p>Another crack, the rustle of bushes. Oliver crouches and notches an arrow in his bow, waiting. Is it another champion moving through the shadows or some other fresh hell that the Gamemakers have dreamt up? Oliver finds himself wishing for the latter, even if it means wolves. He already has the blood of too many fallen champions on his hands. </p><p>A figure explodes into the clearing, blonde hair whipping behind her. It is that flash of gold hair that stills Oliver’s arrow. It’s the champion from District 6 again, Felicity. This is the second time he’s come across her in the games. That’s one time too often to be a coincidence. </p><p>What are the Gamemakers playing at? What is their angle? Are they trying to get him to kill the girl or are they trying to exploit Ollie Queen’s weakness with a pretty girl with sad eyes in need of saving? Are they trying to break him? </p><p>A breath later, another figure erupts from the foliage into the clearing, snarling with teeth bared. Felicity stumbles and falls. Oliver can see from where he’s crouched that her leg is in bad shape, cut from her ankle up to her knee. She’s bleeding through the hastily tied bandage, the growing blood stain  a stark contrast against the kelly green of her cargo pants. </p><p>Felicity flips over on her front and pulls herself up to a seated position. Held tight in her uninjured hand is the knife Oliver pressed into her hand two days ago after he’d killed the champion who’d been trying to kill her. </p><p><em> “Survive,” </em> he’d whispered as he’d handed her the knife, his words feather light against the back of her neck. <em> “Survive.”  </em></p><p>The creature stalks forward, teeth bared. Deep from its throat comes a hacking sound, almost like a laugh or a cough. </p><p>The champion from District 3—Helena, the last of the Career Pack—has gone full feral. Oliver can see it in her stance, in the dried blood she has used to paint her face. Helena’s body might still be in the game, but her mind is gone. An animal has been left behind. </p><p>“Stay back!” Felicity says, brandishing her knife at the other champion. Oliver can’t help but feel pleased that the girl’s words are firm, her voice steady. </p><p>Helena growls in response and bares her teeth. Her muscles coil, ready to leap. Oliver aims his bow.</p><p><em> Ollie, no. </em> He can almost hear Tommy’s groan of despair, see his clenched jaw. <em> You bastard, you promised not to play the hero. Just let her die. You’d have to kill her in the end anyway. It’s easier this way.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Please, Ollie.  </em>
</p><p>Oliver hesitates, bowstring pulled back, arrow notched and ready to fire. </p><p><em> Come back to me, </em> Thea had ordered, eyes fierce even as they were lined with tears. <em> Come back to me.  </em></p><p>Helena springs, an ear-rending shriek exploding from her throat. Felicity yells in response as the dark-haired champion tackles her. The two struggle on the ground; Oliver can hear them, though they’ve passed out of his line of sight. </p><p><em> Let the dark-haired one finish off the blonde. Then you finish the feral one. </em>The voice in his mind speaks with Robert Queen’s voice. And while it might be the type of advice that Robert Queen would have given his son if he were still alive—if he hadn’t been betrayed by Malcolm Merlyn, a man whom he had called friend—Oliver knows. It is Robert Queen’s voice, but it is Oliver’s thought. </p><p>Deep down, Oliver Queen has always known, he’s a killer. Selfishly, he hopes that Helena has killed Felicity, if only so he doesn’t have to do it himself. </p><p>
  <em> Come back to me. Come back to me.  </em>
</p><p>Helena’s screech cuts off mid yell. Silence reigns, save the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. Oliver counts his breaths—<em> one, two, three…  </em></p><p>A sob bubbles up from the other side of the thicket he’s been hiding in. It’s a broken, grief-stricken sound and it pierces Oliver’s heart like an arrow. </p><p>He is up and moving before he consciously makes the decision, out of the shadows and safety of the trees and exposed in the clearing where two bodies lie in the dirt and grass. Helena Bertinelli, District 3’s champion, lies in the dirt, dark hair splayed around her head like a halo. Fresh blood tinges her lips, pools at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes stare sightlessly up at the sky. </p><p>Bent over Helena’s body, hand still clenched around the hilt of the knife Oliver had given her days before, is Felicity Smoak. Her head bent, shoulders shaking, she sobs and whispers, her words unintelligible.</p><p>Oliver knew from the moment he saw her: Felicity Smoak was never meant to be a killer.</p><p>(But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be)</p><p>Oliver deliberately makes his tread louder, alerting the sobbing girl to his presence. Felicity looks up through her curtain of hair and meets his gaze. </p><p>Oliver remembers. On the night of the opening ceremonies, her hair had shone like gold.  </p><p>She had been clad in an ethereal dress, more cloud than substance in the way that it wafted around her. The material faded from deepest purple at the top to the palest pink at the bottom giving the effect of a dawning sky. </p><p>Yet the most striking feature of her ensemble hadn’t been the dress itself, but the wings attached to her back. White, gossamer feathers, studded with gems that sparkled and caught the light with her every move. She had been an angel brought to life.</p><p>An angel to be sacrificed in hell. </p><p>
  <em> Ladies, gentlemen, and others, I give you—Felicity Smoak, Our Angel of Innocence!  </em>
</p><p>The Queen family’s public relations manager told Oliver that his reaction to Felicity Smoak’s unveiling had gone viral. Oliver hadn’t even known there had been a camera on him. </p><p><em> “Your slack-jawed, wide-eyed amazement was di-vine,” </em> the manager chattered, splitting the word “divine” into two syllables, which only served to fuel Oliver’s annoyance. <em> “Ollie Queen, falling head-over-heels for a rival champion. Your budding, doomed romance is all anyone can talk about!”  </em></p><p>Oliver had been too sick to respond. While the Capitol gorged itself on every tidbit of the story that the public could get its hands on (<em> “They say he watches her during practice.” “It was love at first sight.” “He’s dreamt about her for years and now he’s finally found her, but now their love can never be." </em>), Oliver spent the evening crouched over the toilet, retching and spewing until there was nothing left. Nothing but guilt and numbness.</p><p>Cloaking Felicity Smoak in heaven and stars had been a smart move. Donors had no doubt paid large sums of money to keep her alive at least until the finale. Nothing made entertainment so decadent as watching innocence die. </p><p>Yet Oliver knows in his heart, standing before Felicity and watching her innocence die—this is nothing like entertainment. </p><p>“Oliver,” Felicity whispers, tears streaking through the mud on her cheeks.</p><p>Oliver takes a step toward her, then another. His gait is cautious, senses still tuned to the trees around them. With Helena’s death, there are still six players out there; it would be foolish to be caught now when he is so, so close. </p><p>Oliver stands over the pair, taking in Helena’s blank eyes and the knife embedded in her chest. Felicity finally seems to realize that she is still holding its hilt and she snaps her hand back to her chest as if she has been burned. </p><p>There is blood on the hand Felicity cradles against her chest. It smears against her shirt. </p><p>
  <em> An angel covered in blood.  </em>
</p><p>“I killed her,” Felicity whispers, looking up at him beseechingly. “I killed her.”</p><p>There’s a dazed look in her eyes, as if she’s not fully aware of where she is or what she’s saying. </p><p>It would be so easy to kill her now, distracted as she is. It might even be a mercy, taking her out of the equation before she can even realize what has happened. It would be over for her then. She wouldn’t have to live with the memories, with the knowledge of all she has lived through and done. She could die and be at peace. He could kill her and give her that peace. </p><p>What is one more life, one more stain on his soul? </p><p>As if hearing Oliver’s dark thoughts, Felicity looks up at him, and there’s something less about her. Her gaze is feverish. Whether from her recent kill or the injuries sustained, Oliver isn’t sure.</p><p>“Oliver,” she repeats, and she reaches out with beseeching, bloodstained hands. “Oliver, <em> please </em>.” </p><p>He takes her hands and pulls her to her feet. She isn’t asking him to spare her, he knows. She’s an angel in hell and she’s asking him, begging him, to set her free.</p><p>
  <em> What’s one more kill?  </em>
</p><p>Felicity stares up at him, eyes overflowing with tears that somehow make her eyes seem that much more blue. Her hands grasp his, transferring Helena’s blood to him. Her lips form the word <em> please </em>, over and over again. </p><p>
  <em> It would be a mercy. You would be doing her a kindness.  </em>
</p><p>“Oliver,” she gasps, her whole body trembling. He can’t escape from her arresting gaze. </p><p><em> Don’t be a hero, Ollie, </em> says a voice that sounds a lot like Tommy.</p><p><em> Come back to me, </em>urges Thea. </p><p><em> Survive, </em>whispers Robert Queen. </p><p><em> I’m sorry, </em>thinks Oliver Queen. </p><p>He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Felicity Smoak’s. He breathes in her scent—outdoors, sweat, blood, and soft skin—and breathes out. He pulls away, presses a kiss to his angel’s forehead, and begs for forgiveness. </p><p>Because despite all his promises to survive, to come back, to not play the hero—he can’t. He can’t do what she is asking of him. He may have stains on his soul, ones that will never wash clean, but he can’t sacrifice that stained soul all together. Not like this. Never like this. </p><p>Selfish bastard that he is, he won’t send his angel to heaven if it means he has to remain alone in hell. </p><p>In the distance, a cannon booms announcing the death of another champion. </p><p>“C’mon,” Oliver says, clasping Felicity’s hand tight in his. “We need to keep moving.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This AU Hunger Games piece was originally supposed to be about 500 words. I was also going to wait to publish it until I had written the four other accompanying AUs (Supernatural, LOTR, Star Wars, and Marvel). But past experience has taught me that such good intentions rarely manifest in a timely manner, so I decided to post it right away. </p><p>I’m still writing out pieces for each of the fandoms mentioned above. I’ll be focusing next on the Iron Felicity and Captain Arrow fic (thanks Alexdyra for coining the names). Until then!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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